


from our bones to you

by bilinski_16



Category: But plot twist - Fandom, Plot with some porn - Fandom, Skittles - Fandom, Stiles is dead - Fandom, sciles - Fandom, teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 05:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20522816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bilinski_16/pseuds/bilinski_16
Summary: Patient | Stiles StilinskiCurrent status | DeceasedTime of death | Tuesday, August 9th 2018Cause of death | Homicide, forced drowningState of body | CrematedThe four-month anniversary of Stiles' death is closing in and Scott is still mourning and working just as hard to find the killer, when he is suddenly met with an overwhelming discovery.





	from our bones to you

* * *

**What Claudia Said**

Scott knows he was stupid for thinking that it wouldn't be as bad as when Allison died... For thinking he could handle it better this time around.

He also knows he's not the brightest bulb on the Big Christmas Tree of Life.

However, he never expected it to feel like this. Every single morning feels like Stiles has died again... As if every morning is the day of his funeral. Every single morning, it's the same helplessness he felt when he first heard the news, and the weakness when he saw Stiles' ashes... and every single morning, there's always that sweet moment of bliss when he first wakes up and hasn't opened his eyes, when he forgets about it. When he feels the same way he did when Stiles was still here, just a text or phone call away... but then he opens his eyes, and immediately, all that normal happiness he used to feel, fades... It fades with Stiles.

The sun shines through his blinds and casts streaks of light on his popcorn ceiling; before it happened, Scott used to think the brightened lines were as pretty as a sunset. Now, to put it bluntly, Scott hates how it looks, thinks they're dull and unnecessary. 

He really should get better light-blocking curtains. 

To him, those lines—once bright and luminous, yellow and so vivid in his memories—are nothing more than a dull reminder of the world's complete lack of color. The Earth lost its iridescence when it lost Stiles, Scott's light, his brother, his soul mate, his crush and the boy he loves so much, but never got the chance to show it. So many unspoken words that one day, he will speak out loud. Whether that be in this lifetime or in the afterlife when he finally sees Stiles again, he has no clue... Genuinely.

Regardless of how deep his sorrows go, how heavy his limbs feel, Scott drags himself out of bed. He decides the hoodie he has on is fine and changes just his pants. Today, he supposes, is one of the better days. At least he got out of bed. He's still not going to focus on anything during any of his classes, but that much is obvious, at least to him. Why _should_ he pay attention? Everything even remotely academic (that isn't related to learning about enemies) has been officially deemed irrelevant and insignificant to the grand scheme of things. If he needs to focus on anything right now, it's to make sure no one else in his pack dies like the already fallen soldiers. 

Scott feels pain surge through his chest.

Stiles used to call Allison, Aidan, Boyd and Erica "the fallen soldiers" in his own way of respecting their memory. Who knew that just a couple months later, he would join their category...

"Are you going to school today?" Melissa asks. Scott flinches and looks up at his mother, a bit surprised because he didn't hear the door open.

"Y-Yeah, I guess..." Scott nods as he grabs his backpack and throws it over his shoulder. Melissa stops him and sets her hand on the side of her son's face, and she looks so concerned that it physically hurts to look at. She finds it similarly difficult, but for her, it's the bags under her son's eyes. The way his eyes look dead, lifeless, as if his soul died along with Stiles... but she looks anyway. She looks because she knows she needs to.

"You know you don't have to, right?" Melissa gently drags her thumb along Scott's cheekbone, collecting a tear. When did he start crying?

"I'll be okay, mom." Scott mumbles, wiping the tears as he turns and makes his way down the stairs. He knows he's been rude to her, and he wishes he could take it all back... He wishes he could just hug her and sob in her arms but right now he can't afford to look weak around anyone.

Scott makes his way down the stairs and out the door, ignoring his father's calls to at least eat a little bit of breakfast before he leaves. It's been four months and he still can't keep any type of food down. He tries to eat because he knows he can't protect his pack without the strength, but even thinking about it just makes him more nauseous. At this point, he's considering asking his mother to stick him with an IV that'll give him the required strength but he knows—for the most part—that it wouldn't really work, so he decides he'll just have to keep eating small things to keep him alive until he can stomach actual food.

He pulls his helmet on and starts on his way to the school; the motorcycle beneath him is new and shiny. It's a beautiful sportbike and of course he's unbelievably greatful for it, but it hurts to ride. It's not uncomfortable physically, it's just the same motorcycle Stiles had been fanboying about the day before he went missing. There's something he said about it that was very special, and for a while, Scott couldn't remember what it was for the life of him... He wishes he could go back and really listen to Stiles' rambling; god, he misses it. He really misses it.

He knows now though, that the special thing was one of its parts—Scott can't remember the name of it exactly—which was sold by an unfortunately misinformed man who didn't know it had belonged to a famous racer named Valentino Rossi, to another misinformed man who put it into the sportbike. Due to his lack of knowledge and the bike being rusty and sort-of fucked up, the bike was being sold for a ridiculously low price. Less than his first motorbike; at least $100 less. Scott sold his old bike to get it and he had a hundred left to pocket.

He'd spent the the next few months fixing it up and just finished it a week ago; it's as good as new now, and worth hundreds of thousands more than its original price... but Scott wouldn't give it up for any amount of money. It's the bike Stiles wanted him to get; the bike they'd promised to work on together... Only when he rides it does he feel like Stiles is right there with him; just out of sight. Hence the reason he rides it regardless of the pain in his chest.

Scott cringes as he passes an intersection. Something feels off about today. There's a weird feeling in the air and Scott can't help but feel almost Stiles-level anxious... maybe worse. He has a horrible feeling that something bad might happen today, but if all hell breaks loose then Scott and the pack will find a way to fix it. They always do.

It's only about ten minutes later that Scott pulls into a parking spot behind the school and he just sits there. He doesn't want to look, but he has to.

Scott's eyes drag over the parking lot to one of the empty spaces. Stiles' parking spot. For a second he swears he sees the blue jeep parked there like it was parked that day. He swears he sees Stiles in the driver's seat, a pencil in his mouth and a map in his hands. The memory slowly fades like dust in the wind and it's just an empty parking spot. Another reminder that Stiles is gone.

Throughout the day, everything seemed to be there as a painful reminder. The empty seats, the locker right there next to his own. Scott knew the police and the school had emptied it; the red lock was even gone. He remembers getting their locks around a month before the school year started. It was July 29th and they were just starting up their school shopping... Mostly because the rest of the summer was spent keeping an eye on Gerard and repeatedly trying to befriend a kanima-werewolf who used to literally be their bully.

They never did finish the shopping together.

Scott shakes the memory out of his head and huffs out a breath. The school day is over and he's even more exhausted than he was in the morning. He shuts his locker and makes his way towards the door when he realizes that weird feeling never really left. It's still there, just barely and it's making his skin itch. His anxiety is heightening and he just wants it over with. Regression to the mean. It's going to be okay, he tells himself.

His phone buzzes and Scott almost yelps, but then he takes it out and his heart stops at the name set. Sheriff Stilinski. He quickly swipes his thumb across the screen to answer it and holds it up to his ear as he nearly runs to his sportbike.

••Earlier, at the Stilinski house••

Noah stares at the room across the hall; it had been locked and it still has caution tape wrapped around it from when it was still a crime scene. It's been a month since the case was declared cold but no one really stopped looking into it, even though there's absolutely nowhere to start... Melissa is standing with him, having helped out with cleaning the house. She's been taking care of him since the incident; making sure he doesn't fall into old habits and Noah couldn't be more greatful for her help. It's been dificult but she's right; the last thing Stiles would want is for his father to start drinking again.

"I think it's time," Melissa whispers, which elicits a reluctanf nod from the man standing beside her. He sighs and they make their way to the room. With shaking hands, Noah removes the caution tape and opens the door he hasn't so much as looked at in months. The room was basically spotless. The detective pictures and threads are now sitting in a box on his bed. Noah still didn't understand why Stiles did that before his disappearance; it brings so many questions to his mind. Did he know he was going to die? Did he want it to happen? Did he just running away and get kidnapped?

Melissa shakes him when she notices Noah is thinking a bit too much. He clears his throat and gives a thankful smile, before looking around the room. His breath hitches at a framed picture of himself, Melissa and Claudia laughing as six-year-old Scott and Stiles poked each other and made funny faces...

"They were so little..." Melissa coos and gently rubs her friend's back. Noah pushes down the lump in his throat and nods at that. They sit down on his bed and let out simultaneous breaths of heartbreak. The room looks so small. Noah wonders if that's how Stiles felt, and he immediately feels guilty. He wishes he could have given Stiles a better life; a bigger room, better clothes, better furniture and a better father. "Scott really misses him."

"I figured as much," Noah sighs out. "I haven't let him in here since before the funeral... And I suppose he doesn't really have much to remember Stiles by. Would he like to come down? See if he wanted to take a few things?"

"I'm sure he would appreciate it." Melissa nods and searches for her phone, and finds that she must have left it in her purse downstairs.

Noah offered to call and pulls his phone out, dialing Scott's number.

•••

Scott presses the phone up to his ear, tilting his head slightly. He hopes there's some new evidence; something, anything to go on about Stiles' killer.

"Hello?" Scott inquires and there's a short pause.

"Hey, Scott," the Sheriff begins. He sounds sad, but that's appropriate in view of the circumstances. "Your mother and I finally opened Stiles' bedroom and uh... Well, I know I haven't really let you in there since the incident, and I was wondering if you'd want to come and take a few things home...? You know, just to keep for memory's sake."

Scott feels his heart drop low into his stomach... He knows he needs this. Needs something that smells like Stiles. Needs to be surrounded by the scent of his best friend, however old they may be.

Scott nods and then remembers Noah can't see him.

"Yeah. Yeah, right now? I'm on my way."

"Of course."

The phone call ends and this isn't something to be excited about but he literally can't get there soon enough. Scott jumps onto the sportbike and ignores the pain in his chest as he starts it up, pulling out of the parking lot and heading on his way to the Stilinski house for the first time in four months.

• • •

Not fifteen minutes later, Scott is pulling into the driveway. The car is still there, but the jeep... It must be in the garage, Scott decides.

He makes his way into the house and slowly up the stairs, keeping his head down as he does so. The door at the end of the hall is ajar— Scott cringes and shoves down the memories of the Nogitsune as he continues to walk towards the bedroom. He opens the door all the way so it's no longer just cracked and is immediately hit with a massive wave of Stiles' scent. By this time, Noah is already overwhelmed and stands up to pat Scott's shoulder.

"Take anything you want, kid." He then makes his exit. Melissa sets a soft kiss on her son's forehead and follows after the man Scott considers to be a second father, leaving the teenager alone in the quiet room.

Scott feels weights pushing down on his chest and he sits down on the bed. Tears prick at his eyes but this time he's alone— he can let them fall freely. And he does. He stands up again and pulls his backpack so it's against his side, opening it slowly. He walks around and takes the picture Noah and Melissa had previously admired, gently setting it in his bag.

By the end of it, Scott has the picture, a ball of red string, and Stiles' favorite hoodie. More time passes and he continues his search until openings the drawer of the desk and finds a black journal; on the front reads All the Things I Never Said in silver sharpie. He feels guilty but he takes it regardless. One day he'll read it.

Scott sits back down on the bed and finds the exhaustion, the anxiety, is getting worse. He needs comfort and he needs it now... Comfort. Stiles. Scent. He needs to be surrounded by it. Needs.

With a sob threatening to leave his throat, Scott crawls under the covers and buries himself in the dark colored comforter—in Stiles' scent—and finally, the world around him discipates.

• • •

He's in bed with Stiles, laughing and telling ghost stories under the blanket, with only a flashlight pointing towards the end of the bed. Stiles is doubled over with giggle after giggle, and the love that surrounds them is burning brighter than the crackling fireplace downstairs. Stiles' face is red and he's trying so hard to breathe like Scott just told the best joke anyone has ever told him. In reality, it's one he'd learned a few hours earlier about Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson camping... He originally didn't understand it but knew Stiles was smart enough, so he decided to wing it. He loves making Stiles laugh. It's the best thing to watch.

Only five minutes pass and they've surfaced from their sea of blankets. Now they're just staring up at the ceiling, watching the light pour in through Stiles' blinds. It occasionally changes color and shape when a car drives by and Stiles begins to wonder about stuff like he always does when things get quiet. They're thirteen, and yet both of them understand the world more than they really should.

"Hey Scotty?" Stiles mumbles, playing with the hem of Scott's burgundy sleeve. The older boy looks over at his friend and hums, his own way of telling Stiles that he's listening. "Do you-um... Do you think we'll always be best friends like we are right now? Like, what if I die super-duper young?"

Scott huffs out a breath and moves so he's sitting cross-legged, pulling Stiles into his lap. Stiles' sweater covered back is pressed against his closest friend's chest and he just cuddles into the warmth. Scott wraps his arms around Stiles' torso and holds him tight, not even wanting to think about what would happen if Stiles died.

"Of course we'll always be best friends," Scott replies with no hesitation, not a single hint of doubt in his voice. Stiles seems to find comfort in the answer and he falls slightly limp in the arms encasing his fragile body. "I won't let you die. Even if that means I have to get off my lazy ass and get buff, or start going to church and praying my perky ass off for a miracle. I'll protect you."

Scott knows how scared Stiles gets when he thinks about death. His worst fear is dying before his father, before Scott, leaving them in pain... Even if that means living alone for a few years until his inevitable death. Fatherless and best-friendless. That's just how Stiles works. Regardless, Scott has made it his sworn duty to protect Stiles. He knows Stiles can protect himself just fine but the more protection the better.

"My mom said this once... Um, before she went delusional," Stiles whispers. His voice shakes and Scott just tightens his hold a little. He nuzzles the top of Stiles' head and wraps a blanket around them. "Love is watching someone die."

"That's a little morbid." Scott chuckles and his best friend mirrors a similar laugh.

"Anyway, I was just thinking about what she said, and..." Stiles begins and Scott nods to show he's listening. "Well, you want to protect me and I want to protect you so that I can die after you. But what if something happens and I do die before you? Like, old age hits me harder than you? Who's gonna watch you die?"

Scott hums. This is a valid concern, he decides, and buries his face in Stiles' neck to breathe in his scent. It's weird but Stiles doesn't seem to care, so he continues to breathe it in.

"Look at it this way," Scott pulls his face out from its hiding spot and Stiles pretty much does the same thing that he was jusy doing. He nuzzles the base of Scott's neck affectionately. "If that does happen, and that's a big if, then you can watch me from the afterlife when it's my time. That way, I know you're watching. I know you'll still love me after death. Now no more thinking. Let's go to bed."

Stiles wants to protest, Scott can tell, but he has them under the covers before another word can even be spoken. He wraps his arms around the smaller boy and they tangle their legs together.

They're out within minutes.

• • •

Scott breathes shakily as his body racks with sobs. Tears are soaking the sheets but he doesn't even care, he just presses his back against the wall and holds Stiles' pillow in his arms in a tight hug. He tries his best to breathe and soon finds himself in control of the air once again, and that's when he finds that he's even more tired... Sleepy, even.

"I'm sorry, Stiles."

With a single tear sliding down across his nose bridge, Scott falls asleep, surrounded by the scent of his best friend.


End file.
